


Auld Lang Syne

by Decepticonsensual



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Gen, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 16:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13414752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: After surviving the horrors of Halloween and the bewildering chaos of the Christmas season, Ratchet thought he was done having to weather Earth holidays for a while.  But this human celebration is a little... different.  Buckle up, because Ratchet's about to discover the true meaning of New Year.  (He's also about to discover what Bulkhead, Bumblebee, and Sari did to Autobot HQ.)





	Auld Lang Syne

“So.”

 

The grim note in Ratchet’s voice did not bode well.

 

He surveyed the Autobots’ common room with the thousand-yard stare of a mech looking out at the smoking remains of a battlefield.  Which, to be fair, was not an entirely inaccurate description.  The room was currently displaying a similar degree of chaos.

 

The difference was that battlefields don’t tend to glitter.

 

The massive specimen of Earth flora and the red-and-green garlands from the most recent human holiday had been largely taken down (Bulkhead was industriously unpinning the last of the garlands, and seemed to have all the others draped over his shoulders for safekeeping, making him look a bit like he was camouflaged to ambush some Decepticons hiding in a particularly festive pine forest).  However, they’d been replaced with banners in screaming gold and silver, proclaiming  _Happy New Year!,_ and clusters of metallic balloons tied to every corner and bobbing gently along the ceiling. And, much like a battlefield, the entire room was covered in jagged pieces of…

 

He bent down and picked one of the scraps up on the tip of his finger. What he’d initially taken for metal turned out to be some kind of shimmering plastic, the light glinting off it as he studied it from different angles.

 

“What in the Pit did you numbskulls blow up in here, anyway?”

 

“It’s confetti!” chirped Sari’s voice from somewhere in the forest of balloons.  “It already comes in little pieces like that.  Bee, keep it steady!”

 

Bumblebee stumbled into view with Sari perched on his shoulder.  He was holding a massive, mirrored ball aloft. As Ratchet watched, Sari stood up and – balancing on Bee’s plating like a meteroid-surfer over the Mithril Sea – reached out to attach the ball to a cord dangling from the ceiling.

 

“There! Now we’re ready.”

 

“I don’t even want to know,” Ratchet muttered.

 

“New Year’s Eve!”  Sari leapt lightly from Bumblee’s shoulder to his hand, and he set her down.

 

“ _Another_ human holiday?  How many can you pack into one stellar cycle?  It’s a wonder you organics get any work done.”  Ratchet caught the excited gleam in Sari’s eye and added, a little grudgingly, “So what’s this one about, then?  Not more costumes and cutting up orange fruit?”

 

“Nope! It’s the night before the new year starts – the new stellar cycle.  Everyone stays up until midnight, and then -”

 

“Boom!” Bumblebee grinned.  “ _Massive_ fireworks! Sari says that Detroit does the biggest fireworks display in the whole country!”

 

“And there’s a ton of fuel,” Bulkhead piped up, “and people make these promises about what they want to change that year.  It’s kind of a new start, right?”  Sari nodded.

Ratchet rubbed his thumb, thoughtfully, over the bit of confetti resting on his fingertip.  Then his engines huffed, and he turned and left for the medbay… but not before casting a speculative glance back at the mirrored ball.  It seemed to wink at him, throwing bright shards of light in all directions.

 

***

 

For a crew of space bridge repair mechs, building something as simple as a temporary observation deck on the roof had taken barely any time, just a few materials from a nearby scrapyard.  Bulkhead and Bee placed Sari between them, bundled up against the cold, and revved their engines to warm her up.  Prowl was sitting nearby with his legs folded, a faint smile on his face as the light from the fireworks washed over him in waves of gold and red and white.  Optimus leaned against the rail.  His optics glittered, lips slightly parted, as he drank in the sight of what really was a pretty spectacular fireworks show (Sari hadn’t been kidding).

 

Optimus looked even younger in this light, Ratchet thought.

 

The doctor himself was sitting a little ways apart, warming his servos on a mug of hot oil.  The heat seeped into the stiff joints of his fingers and relaxed them, bit by bit.

 

After a time, he felt Optimus ease onto the bench next to him, but didn’t look over just yet.  Instead, the pair of them sat watching the reflections of the fireworks in the gleaming mercury surface of the river.

 

“Last time I saw fireworks was the day the war ended,” Ratchet mused aloud, after a time. “You’re too young to remember.  The victory celebrations lasted for cycles.  But somehow, it didn’t really feel like we’d won, with so many gone.  And no sooner did the bombs stop than the Magnus decided the best way to celebrate was -” He gestured with his mug. “ _More_ explosions in the sky.”

 

Optimus turned to look at him, and that youthful awe from earlier was gone, replaced by a sharpness in his optics that seemed to bore right into Ratchet.  He was young, yes, but not so young as he’d been when they came to Earth. Optimus’s smile was gentle.  “Sounds like it wasn’t in the best of taste.”

 

“I hated it.  We needed a little space to ventilate, to rebuild, not –  _that._  Ended up hiding in what was left of my medbay for days.”

 

“I can understand that.”

 

Ratchet watched a distant, whistling speck climb the sky, before it burst into a dozen points of golden light.  Then he said quietly, “I don’t hate this.”

 

“Well, coming from you, that’s quite a compliment,” said a low, cool voice in Ratchet’s audial.  He hadn’t even heard Prowl approach.

 

“We need to put a damned bell on you,” he grumbled as Prowl vaulted the back of the bench and sat on Ratchet’s other side.  Prowl laughed.  “Didn’t think this’d be your thing, to be honest, Prowl.  All this flash and noise?”

 

“It is quite disruptive.  But beautiful, in a way.”  Prowl tucked his feet up under him and cupped his chin in thought.  “And I’ve been doing some research into this whole New Year’s Eve idea.  Do you know, it’s tied to Earth’s natural cycles?  Ancient humans used to mark a new beginning at the darkest point in the year.  It was a way of showing faith that the light would come back again.”

 

Sari oohed as a cascade of gold and green seemed to burst right overhead, the tips of its tendrils fizzling with sparks.

 

“You know,” Ratchet said, “if you’d asked me around fifty years ago, I’d have told you I was too old for fresh starts.”

 

“And now?” Optimus asked, scooting a little closer.  Between him and Prowl and the mug of fuel in his hands, Ratchet felt strangely warm for a winter’s night.

 

Before he could answer, Bulkhead’s hand settled on his shoulder, and the green mech leaned around to offer Ratchet a cube of sparkling energon.  Bumblebee was climbing up next to Prowl, three more cubes cradled in his arms and Sari trailing after him.

 

“Here, doc.  Sari says we all make a toast at midnight.”

 

Ratchet felt a strange, soft weight at his side, and glanced down to see Sari cozying up against him.  Surprised, he hesitated, then set his cooling mug at his feet and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

 

Once everyone had a drink (Sari couldn’t exactly partake of the energon, but declared herself fully content with the massive mug of hot cocoa she needed both hands to hold, topped with whipped cream, marshmallows, chocolate flakes, and what looked like a spray of tinsel), all the bots pulled up their chronometer displays, and Ratchet projected his as a hologram so Sari could see the time. Across the water, the firework display grew more intense, a riot of sound and colour.

 

“Ten!” shouted Sari.  “Nine!”

 

“Eight!” Bumblebee joined in, followed by Bulkhead, and then the others; even Ratchet found himself chanting as the numbers on the chronometer climbed.

 

“ _Two!  ONE! Happy New Year!”_

 

The younger bots and Sari whooped with joy as the sky exploded, the display reaching its finale.  Optimus solemnly clinked cubes with everyone, and they toasted the fireworks, the river, the strange planet where they’d carved out a home.

 

_To new beginnings,_ Ratchet thought.


End file.
